Gravity of Devils
by hellohades
Summary: Pitch Black and Jack Frost keep running into each other, and what will come of it twenty years down the line? Perhaps sometime beautiful, perhaps something tragic. This is a story about Jack and Pitch, and the relationship they develop over time.
1. Memories

**Heya guys! Alright, so I made another story cuz I went and saw the movie again. I hope you enjoy this one as much as _Monsoon_~**

**Let me know what you think! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from ROTG.**

* * *

**The Gravity of Devils [one]  
**_Memories_

* * *

_"The world will know your name!"_

_"Children are beginning to fear me again!"_

_"I've grown quite fond of you, Jack Frost."_

_"I won't let you go."_

_"I fear nothing."_

_"Only you, Jack."_

Jack woke with a sudden start, nearly falling off of his branch and toppling into a heap of snow beneath him.

He looked around quickly, not really taking anything in, just looking for the source of the voice he thought he heard. He searched the bushes in front of him, the frozen lake beneath him, even the tree itself. There were idle shadows—but he knew better than to linger on them, for his mind sometime played dangerous tricks—but there was no one to be found; at least not in the physical realms around him. Jack slowly settled back down against his branch, his mind still buzzing, his heart beat echoing in his ears and his skin set aflame.

"What a weird dream." He muttered softly, breathing in icy cold air, trying to recapture his questionable sleep.

The thing was, because Jack was immortal, he didn't really need sleep, but he could if he ever _really_ wanted to. That, and immortals never really got tired in the first place. And it wasn't like Jack had specifically _wanted_ sleep anyways, he had simply wanted time to move faster.

But unfortunately, Jack had shocked himself awake and couldn't seem to lull himself back into oblivion. Jack sighed and rolled his neck from side to side slowly, stretching out his restless muscles. He ran his tattered sleeve under his nose while he blinked away the sleep in his eyes. The voice had brought back memories from twenty or so years ago—twenty long, long years ago. Man, Jack thought, I haven't thought about those days in a long time. This brought a smile to his lips.

And it had indeed been nearly twenty years since Pitch's defeat, and since Jack had really been in the company of all his friends—but of course, his time had been otherwise preoccupied with persons of interest.

Of course, Jack had stopped by Tooth's palace, visited Bunnymund's Warren, popped by North's workshop; but they were always busy with their holidays—or nightly tooth snatchings, in Tooth's case. They had no time to entertain Jack or just lounge around and talk or enjoy a simple day with the Winter.

And yet, Jack thought, even with occasional sleep, the time had never been slower—and Jack had never felt more abandoned by his friends.

Maybe that was why he made the choices he did, Jack thought callously. He sniffed his nose clear and blinked his eyes wide once more as his mind drew on his depraved sleepiness. He shook his head vigorously, but couldn't seem to clear the grogginess from his eyes.

And that was when Jack spotted it, across the lake. A dark form appeared and disappeared from his vision repeatedly, yet every time Jack was able to focus hard enough, the shade would disappear once more. "Who's out there?" Jack called, frustrated with his hazy mind. If the figure was human, it was highly unlikely they would hear him—but it's always worth a shot.

Whatever it was, Jack was not amused. He gripped his staff tighter in his hands and hopped down from his branch, steadying himself as he landed awkwardly. He straightened himself up as the shade passed in front of him, then vanished once more.

But the scent that lingered on the air gave the villain away all too quickly. Jack smirked, relieved it wasn't one of the Nightmares—but in fact, their master.

"You can come out now, Boogeyman." Jack smiled as he ran his sleeve over his eyes once more, rubbing the black sand particles from his cerulean orbs and playing with the ebony grains between his fingertips.

Pitch steadily appeared, slipping silently from behind Jack's tree, his lips laced with secrets he refused to tell. "Well hello, Jack. It's good to see you again." His voice was malicious honey to Jack's ears, tearing at the echo of his own rapid heartbeat in his chest.

"Pitch." Jack dipped his head slightly, but never let his eyes drift too far from the man. He stood in the center of his frozen lake, leaning his weight against the staff and waiting for the older spirit to speak. But Pitch simply glided onto the thick ice, as if he were walking on air.

"I've been looking for you, Jack." Pitch spoke volumes, his eyes predatory-like and never leaving Jack's face—he was watching, waiting for any sign of weakness that might betray Jack's cool demeanor.

"Why?" Jack asked playfully, a smile cracking his previously flawless face. Jack straightened up and squared his shoulders as a cocky smile tore at his features. "Miss me already?"

And Pitch's black heart skipped a beat for a moment before returning to normal. "I need something from you." He says, ignoring the boys comment as he glided to a stop in front of the eternal body of an ageless boy.

Jack shutters from the closeness of the Dark King, but he doesn't let it show. His lips stayed peeled back in a smile, but he gives way to a question; "so what do you want?"

The Boogeyman bent at the waist and leveled with the eternal Winter spirit, and with a straight face, he says; "a kiss."

* * *

It was early one morning, and Jack was just barely walking out onto the rooftop of a building that seemed far too tall compared to the communities surrounding it. It was months after Pitch's defeat, and how lovely Jack felt being part of a family—finally.

His stomach twisted in happy knots with the thought. A family,_ finally_—but a busy, hasty family. Not one of his new family members had really spent time with him lately… Jack sighed, of course they wouldn't—couldn't, actually. They technically viewed him as one of the children they protected—only one with a glorious title. He was a prankster, a trickster, the Guardian of fun! While on the other hand, the others had duties to comply with, and Jack did not want to get in their way or distract him—he understood now how important the children were to the Guardians; and it wasn't simply a job anymore, it was a duty—it was the difference between life and death, basically.

And this was where Pitch came in, creeping steadily forward on the rooftop, silent as the Devil. Jack didn't even know he was there until the Nightmare King was right beside him, starring out at a lovely morning sky with a straight face. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" He asked evenly.

Jack jumped with surprise and raised his staff, ready to attack. Pitch raised both of his tired hands and lowered his head. "Please, Jack, I'm not here to fight." His voice was near monotone with even smaller amounts of inflection.

Jack studied the man quickly, then lowered his staff with an expression of pity. The King was dwindling away steadily. His skin was a paler shade of grey, and his eyes didn't shine nearly as bright as before. Even the shadows in which Pitch Black traveled in writhed around him like snakes withering away once their heads were chopped off.

"What's happening to you?" Jack asked, reaching out to touch the man's slick, shining skin. A fine layer of perspiration lined Pitch's flesh as if he were sick with some sort of influenza.

Pitch moved away from the boy, as if afraid to be touched by the Guardian—as if Jack's hands were acid on his skin. Jack lowered his hand, hurt, but understanding. Pitch smoothed his hair back against his head and straightened up—but he didn't hold his composure for long. Pitch sighed heavily and slouched over, crouching down to sit on the rooftop.

He held his hands in his lap, rubbing circles in his palm with his opposite thumb—Jack figured it was some sort of nervous tick. "I'm fading, Jack." Pitch's sunken eyes blinked slowly—far too slowly for Jack's liking. "No one believes in the Boogeyman anymore."

And the pieces started to click together in Jack's mind. "You mean," he started off slowly, trying not to sound like an idiot, "the same thing that happened to the other Guardians can happen to you, too? Like, without kids to believe in you, you'll lose your powers?"

Pitch scoffed, as if he'd been offended. He rolled his eyes and tried to stand, but stumbled backwards. Jack ran to his side, dropping his staff and letting it clatter and rock on the shingles recklessly. He caught the King under the arm just in time to save the man from tumbling over and held him close, helping the man keep his balance. But Pitch would have none of it, and shoved the boy aside, regardless of how often he stumbled on the uneven roof.

"I don't need your pity!" Pitch shouted venomously. His hair fell out of place around his face, making him look like a madman, but Pitch walked on, muttering curses under his breath. "I should've never come here."

Jack's raised his hand to stop him, but the i"wait"/i got caught in his throat. He lowered his hand as the Boogeyman slowed his pace and leaned against the chimney of the rooftop, slouching over slightly and breathing heavily. Jack was at his side once more—because Jack knew there needed to be balance. You couldn't have too much good, or people would take everything for granted, so Jack helped the Boogeyman—regardless of his duties to the Guardians.

"What do you need?" He asked, brushed stray strands of black feathery plumage away and gripping the Boogeyman's chin in his firm hands. "Pitch, tell me what you need!"

The King panted softly, his skin growing a few shades paler and his eyes hiding a long forgotten fear of fading away into nothingness as he stared into Jack's lovely blue orbs. Pitch breathed a reply, a simple whisper of; "fear."

And Jack was off, gripping the limp body in his hands as the winds carried them west, towards a bedframe covering a gapping hole in the earth. When he reached the Nightmare realm, he slid down the hole with Pitch in his arms. The King moaned with every small ounce of turbulence, but once Jack's feet met solid ground, he was quiet again. Jack placed the King next to the globe with glowing lights, and realized that indeed, a good portion of the globe was glowing brightly, and not one shade or shadow could taint it.

So Jack took off again, feeling it was his mission to help spread fear—and perhaps, save Pitch from himself.

* * *

Jack slouched carelessly against a tall oak tree. It had been hard work spreading the fear of the Boogeyman to children who played with him on nearly a daily basis—it took its toll on his psyche. He breathed out steadily, tilting his head up to the sky, eyeing the moon doubtfully. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing, Man in the Moon." He pleaded.

But again, he was met with silence. That was, until Pitch burst out of the shadows of the line of trees beside Jack.

"I feel more alive than ever!" Pitch laughed, and from the back of his throat came an even raspier chortle. He danced around the Winter, his shadow cast over the eternal child like a skyscraper, reflecting the blackness in the Boogeyman's very soul.

Jack held his staff out in front of him defiantly. It was unlike the Nightmare King to come skittering out of the shadows so readily—especially in this manner. "Why is that?" Jack asked skeptically, following the Nightmare King and never letting his guard down.

Pitch stopped and turned towards the boy, amusement playing across his face. "Fear, Jack. Because of _fear._" He smiled with all his teeth, sinking into a near by shadow and reappearing beside Jack. Jack jumped as the grey skinned back placed both hands on his shoulders, forcing the boy against the tree, effectively pinning him against his will. Pitch bent down to his level with a sinister smile and a devious look in his eyes.

Jack tried to struggle away but Pitch held fast and didn't let go. "Children are beginning to fear me again, Jack." He smiled darkly, his teeth only partially showing now—yet he still resembled a shark. Jack suddenly had the sinking feeling he'd done wrong in helping Pitch. "And I have you to thank for that," he added, touching the boy's jawline with a long, slender fingertip, "for keeping my spirits up."

A devilishly charming smile lingered on his lips, and with that, Pitch stole the first kiss, light and feathery. Then, quick as night, he was gone, leaving Jack both astonished and flustered.


	2. Stay

**Gravity of Devils [two]  
**_Stay_

* * *

A few months passed, maybe even an entire year before they met again. Jack needed his space, and the Boogeyman gave it to him—after all, he had made children believe in the Boogeyman again, and Pitch felt he owed the boy that much at least.

Pitch never properly thanked him either. He could remember the day perfectly! How Jack had appeared before the children who could see him and told them stories of the hideous Boogeyman who haunted their dreams and closets and hid under their beds till morning.

Those children believed in the Boogeyman then, and their fears fueled the Boogeyman's return to power temporarily, giving him enough juice to send out at least a few Nightmares to other children—and his power crept back into the darkness, into his very blood and through his veins—and his reign became supreme once more.

And even now, as Pitch stared up at the flurry of ice and the volley of snow balls being pitched to and fro while the children ran around with Jack in a small city park, he felt his heart leap great length when their eyes met and Jack's laugh rang in his ears lovingly. Pitch, of course, had been thinking quite a bit about the boy since they're last meeting.

Jack cracked a forced smile at the Boogeyman, but his hand clenched his staff till his knuckles grew white. The children looked to see what Jack was starring at and to find the reason why he had abandoned their games so suddenly. A gasp caught the Boogeyman's attention, then a soft whimper. Some of the younger children saw the Boogeyman approaching while others simply felt the unnatural, terrifying dread while starring into the ebbing sunset.

Jack turned to them and smiled confidently, telling the children; "run on home guys, we'll play later!" And they took off without a second thought, and Pitch could smell the terror they left in their wake.

"Pitch." Jack said stiffly as he turned back towards the Shadow Master. His lips were a thin, impatient line. "Can I help you?" He asked hurriedly.

The Nightmare King held up his hands as if to wave a white flag. "I came to apologize. I wanted to thank you, properly, for what you did for me."

"Yeah, well, it goes against the Guardians, so you owe me big time." Jack pushes pass the Nightmare King casually and walked on towards a line of trees hidden in the fading sunlight.

"That's all you have to say?" Pitch asked, astonished. His eyes remained wide as he followed the boy, trailing behind like a lost puppy.

Jack merely shrugged, "I was just trying to help. You didn't need to come here and thank me for that." He smiled again, this time for real, and Pitch felt an odd light in his chest—like his heart skipped one too many beats before settling down to a normal pace once more.

"Well, I—" Pitch begins, but Jack cut him off in a rush, turning and asking; "why did you kiss me?"

Pitch is quiet again, and stiff as stone. His expression registers as shock to Jack, and suddenly the Winter feels out of place. The shadows snake around the grey skinned man's feet and Jack knows he's trying to avoid the subject and disappear. Jack is quicker though, grabbing Pitch by the wrist and with a gentle brush of his lips against the King's, he begs softly; "stay."

Jack's stomach does backflips and suddenly feels heavy as Pitch disintegrates into shadows and Jack thinks he may never see the Boogeyman again.

* * *

It was a few years later, somewhere in either Australia or Arizona, where it was hot and mostly desert with a suspicious 'dry heat' when they made contact once more. Jack was simply visiting the desert, and he was beginning to realize why he'd rather the Wind take care of this region of the world. He was sticky and his clothes clung to him in unnatural ways due to his perspiration, but as soon as his body was graced with sweat, it seemed to evaporate all too quickly.

Jack would have left hours ago, had he not found a simple shade to rest in for the moment. "I'll leave at nightfall," Jack whimpered to himself, feeling the heat form the sidewalk penetrate his normally frosty skin.

And nightfall came slowly as Jack smoldered in the heat. He was just about to take off on a soft breeze despite the blistering sun when a sound caught his attention. It sounded familiar, like cantering, and when he turned around, the crooked smile of Pitch and a fellow Nightmare crept out of a shadow towards him.

"I never expected to find you here, Jack Frost." Pitch mused atop his dark horse, sitting proper with squared, proud shoulders. "Won't you melt in this heat?" He questioned, a sardonic tone to his voice.

"I _hate_ the heat." Jack whined weakly, ignoring the Boogeyman's jests—he was far too tired to even care what the man had to say. Pitch offers to stand in front of him to blot out the sun, and Jack doesn't hesitate to decline the offer. The Boogeyman moved and his shadow casts a shade of relief in it's wake as Jack was finally able to breath without the searing heat of the sun beating down on him.

"Why are you here, Jack Frost? Isn't this place a little out of your element?" Pitch gestures to all around him, a brow cocked in anticipation of the boys answer.

Jack nods, but refused to tell himself why he'd come to this place, let alone say it out loud to Pitch—let alone say it out loud for _himself_ to hear his deranged reasoning's. But they weren't such crazy thoughts, though Jack had been driving himself mad with the memory of Pitch's lips lingering on his for just a moment in time. Jack tried to push the thoughts away, but the smallest occurrences brought the memory bubbling back to the front of his mind.

"I just had to get away." Jack finally said after a few moments of daunting silence. He looked away from the Nightmare King, suddenly feeling rather ashamed. Jack shouldn't have these feelings about Pitch—he was the bad guy—but the bad guy Jack had _saved._

"From _what_, exactly?" The King asked deviously. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, pulling relentlessly.

Jack would have blushed had he not already been so flushed by the heat. Pitch picked up on that and reached down to pull the boy up by his sweatshirt, making him stand. The dark horse whinnied excitedly as Jack clung to the Boogeyman's wrist and fell into the horses side.

Pitch hopped down form the animals back and placed both hands on either of Jack's shoulders, but Jack had other intentions. He laid his head against the man's chest tiredly, feeling the skipping, black heart beneath the King's ribcage taunt and trick his ears. "Stay." He breathed, feeling silly.

Pitch started at the boy in shock, but his stern look crumbled as Jack's arms ghosted around his waist in a tight embrace. "Stay." Jack begged again, his hands balling into fists at the fabric on Pitch's back. "Just for a little."

Bemused, Pitch grabbed hold of the shade Jack rested under and pulled it over the two of them. They were swallowed into shadow and darkness, and the Nightmare whinnied impatiently as it took off to wreck havoc on children's dreams.

* * *

Jack is exhausted when he wakes up, but he's cool and doesn't feel the heat of the sun on him anymore. He immediately registers the darkness and the fact that he's not entirely sure if his eyes are open or if it's literally that dark wherever he's resting.

He manages to remember Pitch pulling a shadow over them and then falling into a deep asleep. Being immortal does have its disadvantages—like being out of your element for too long, apparently in Jack's case. When Jack's able to move his toes, he slowly sits up, and swings his legs over the side of what appears to be a bed. He moves to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes and sniffing his nose clear.

"Be careful, Jack." A disembodied voice orders, pushing Jack back down into the bed with an unseen hand. Jack obeys and lies there a while longer, waiting for Pitch to appear, but the darkness doesn't let up, so Jack merely closes his eyes and rests for a while longer.

Maybe Jack had a few things he needed to sort out anyways. Like how he was feeling right this instant, perhaps. Shouldn't he be scared, terrified, almost, to be in the very prescience of the Boogeyman? Shouldn't he be trying to escape? Trying to run away? And what exactly was he feeling for the man? Why did he want Pitch to stay, again?

But Jack shook his head and rubbed his eyes vigorously. "Ugh," he sighed, sitting up again. "Pitch!" He called, but the man was already next to him in a chair beside the bed before he even finished calling the King's name.

"Yes, Jack." Pitch asked, his palm holding up his head. He was sitting with his long legs crossed in a chair not too far from wherever Jack had been laying, lounging about like he had nothing better to do but watch over the boy.

"Where am I?" Jack asked, still trying to get his eyes to focus. He was able to make out shapes now, at least vaguely. He could at least see the glowing golden-grey of Pitch's eyes in the corner.

"You're in my Kingdom." Pitch says simply, as if talking to an old friend. "You were overheating in that desert—I've seen it in the humans, but I didn't know spirits could too."

Jack shrugged, laughing tiredly. "Well, being out of your element could do that to you, I guess. It makes sense."

The Boogeyman shakes his head in disappointment. "The desert," Pitch sounded disgusted, "I can't even believe you survived as long as you did there." He turned his eyes back on Jack pointedly. "What exactly were you trying to get away from?" He asks pointedly—not even a hint of a smile was on the King's lips, and Jack didn't need light to know that.

Jack simply smiles in the dark, getting to his feet as he strides over to the King sluggishly. Pitch doesn't move from his chair, simply watches as Jack leans forward and places a kiss on his forehead, cheek, nose, then finally, a longer, lighter kiss against his lips that moves lower to his jaw, neck and collarbone.

Pitch's shocked face makes Jack giggle softly as he nips at the jugular in the grey skinned man's neck. The Boogeyman's skin felt like fire then, and the hair on his neck stands in anticipation. He takes hold of the boy's face gently and turns it towards him, asking again despite his desire to let the boy's mouth roam wherever it chooses; "what were you trying to get away from?"

"I had a few things to sort out." Jack answers, taking the hand holding his face and kissing the rough skin of Pitch's palm. The King shutters as Jack moves to straddle him in the oversized chair. Pitch feels he may explode if the boy touches him anymore and his stomach feels heavy, while Jack simply wants to _touch_ everything, everywhere, all over Pitch's body.

A slithering noise reaches Jack's ear despite his desires and the sucking noise of Pitch's mouth at his neck, and Jack realizes the shadows that envelop the room are steadily creeping to Pitch's side. Fearing the man might melt into shadows once more, Jack claims the Boogeyman's lips, waiting for another eager response.

And Jack gets one when Pitch grabs hold of the boy's body, pulling it against him roughly with a small noise of _want_ as his lips move against Jack's enthusiastically.

* * *

The passion ignites an inferno in Jack's stomach, and the boy thinks; how lucky am I, to have conquered a King like this? He runs his fingers across a bare skinned grey chest lovingly, watching the light rise and fall of the sleeping Boogeyman.

Jack tries to move away from the bare body beneath him, realizing too late that Pitch had his arms tied around the boy's waist., preventing him from leaving. The King stirs, opening heavily lidded eyes and blinking slowly. Jack melts into his arms at the sight, and Pitch merely smiles up at him crookedly, tiredly.

"Don't worry Jack, I won't let you go."

* * *

There's a well somewhere in Iowa that goes untouched year round. The wells' water is sweet and so unlike the water from the west side of the country—it's bitter, and full of toxins and lead microbial that slowly poisons the body and rusts the tongue.

Two spirits stand beside this well, looking down into the darkness. The water beneath reflects the stars above and the slow falling of snowflakes—it's the beginning of winter, and Jack Frost is there to bring the cold as always.

It has been five years since the searing heat of the desert, and Jack has never felt more loved—more alive than in the arms of the Nightmare King. Pitch and he had developed a relationship that had evolved into something physical and dangerously emotional; but there was something missing—something Jack desperately craved, and Jack knew best of all what it was.

"What do you fear?" Jack asks and Pitch cocks a brow at him, uninterested and tired.

"I fear nothing." Pitch protested in a definite monotone.

Jack laughs loudly—so loud, it startles the Boogeyman. Jack laughs till tears built up in his eyes. Jack laughs till Pitch begins to suspect the boy is defective. Jack knows what's missing, but he won't push the matter, not now, at least.

"I know what you're afraid of, Boogeyman!" Jack crowed in a teasing manner, whipping the tears from his eyes with the broad side of his index finger. Pitch tilts his head at the boy in question, his brow still cocked in an indignant manner. "You're afraid of letting me in, aren't you." Jack says, sadly. The tugging and stinging at the back of his eyes doesn't cease.

Pitch made no notion to answer Jack, but in the stiffness of his spine, Jack knew he was right—Pitch hadn't really opened up to the Winter, not like he should have in the amount of time they had been together. There will always be a missing piece to their relationship—and Jack was far too stubborn to say it first.

Pitch muttered something softly, his brow furrowed together. "What?" Jack asked, looking somewhat concerned—feeling that perhaps he had offended the King—that maybe, just maybe, Jack was wrong. He was hoping he was wrong.

"That's not all I'm afraid of." Pitch spoke louder, perhaps too loud for their close proximity.

Jack sat very still, starring dumbfounded at the King of Nightmares. "Oh." He says, scratching the back of his head. He glances down at the water in the well as snowflakes touch down and melt. "W-what else can you possibly be afraid of?" His nervous laugher echoed softly against the wind. Maybe, just maybe, Pitch is afraid to fall in love with Jack…

Pitch sighed a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "I don't know, Jack." He says in a monotone voice, tilting his shoulders into a shrug. He looks up at the moon, and crosses his arms over his chest. The Man in the Moon says nothing to Pitch, and never has.

Jack becomes confused, moving closer to Pitch with a hand resting on his partner's shoulder. "You can tell me—"

"No, Jack, that's just it—I can't—I can't remember."

And Pitch looks at Jack, and the heartbreak in his eyes pierces Jack's lungs and stops his breathing.

How can someone who doesn't know—doesn't remember—how to love, ever _love_ anyone?

* * *

Months go by unnoticed. The feeling that something's missing still bites and chews and eats away at Jack till he feels the pressure building around his organs and it pains him to breath normally. He wants Pitch, all the time, in every way—every fiber of his very being cries out for the King, every second of the day. And it scares Jack endlessly, because he knows love—and he loves Pitch too much.

A hearty storm builds outside till it begins ripping trees from the ground and snow is flying by so hard and fast that it cuts skin and chills to the bone. Jack is standing on top of a mountain, and he screams out of anger. He screams till he can't scream anymore, and icy tears stream down his cheeks and freeze on his alabaster skin.

Pitch find him easily, yet can't keep his balance with the force of the violent wind ripping the mountains apart. "Jack!" He yells, his raspy voice lost in a howl of a ghastly squall. Pitch is mystified by Jack's unbelievable power, looking around at the flurry of violence, and he knows something has gone horribly wrong. He's terrified, and Pitch has never felt terrified before—at least not because of Jack.

Jack hears Pitch calling, but ignores him. His heart rips itself apart from within his ribcage just as the mountains do. From beneath his feet, there is a deep rumble, then a heavy cracking noise just as an avalanche breaks away and launches itself from the immoveable rock, crumbling, crashing, rolling endlessly to the bottom—down, down, down. Jack feels a tugging at his chest but he ignores it.

"Jack!" Pitch calls again, and there is a sudden darkness everywhere around Jack—blinding the storm maker.

"No!" Jack yells, hoarsely, and he rips a void in the darkness with a sheet of formidable ice that rockets out of his staff like fire. But Pitch is quicker this time, blinding the boy against his will and pulling the shadows around him like a tight, trapping force field. He hears Jack scream in frustration from within the darkness as he drags Jack to his side and pins his the boy's back to the ground. Pitch removes the shadows from around Jack and stares down at the Winter, bewildered and worried.

"What are you trying to do, Jack? Bring down the whole damn mountain?!" Pitch yells over the thunderous gale, fearing his voice would be lost to the wind.

Icy tears roll down Jack's cheeks and he lashes out with a vicious growl. "Get off me!" He cries, and icicles and hail rain down on Pitch's back, and Jack hopes the man releases him. But the Boogeyman endures the violence without a single grimace till it dies away and the wind is all but still.

"Jack, tell me what's wrong—"

"You don't love me!" Jack screams, his voice cracks and the sky darkens, threatening to release down with another assault on the Earth below.

Pitch stares down at the eternal body of the boy with a blank, perilous expression. He doesn't know what to say—he doesn't know what love is—he doesn't remember what love is…He kisses the Winter with a bruising force that pains Jack to even suffer through—but he doesn't fight it. Jack wraps his arms and legs around the elder spirit desperately, trying to feel anything aside from the constant breaking of his heart. Pitch holds Jack close, kissing the youngers lips raw and red with whatever he can muster up—hoping, praying to the Man in the Moon, that's its what Jack is looking for.

But Jack is desperate, and it's nothing like what Jack seeks. "Stop, please stop." Jack growls, pushing the Boogeyman away forcefully. And Pitch lets him go, lets him get to his feet and stagger away till he crumbles to the ground again, into a broken pile of snowflakes and ice. Jack rocks back and forth and holds his arms across his chest, as if trying to keep himself from falling part.

Pitch gets to his feet and walks over to the boy before the sky breaks open again. He glances between Jack and the looming assault on Earth and kneels in front of the Winter, trying to blot out the sky—like he blotted out the sun in the desert. "Jack, listen to me," he utters softly, stroking the boys slick cheeks. Jack stared at him with agony in his eyes, but Pitch's expression of indifference never changes. "I don't know how to love, but I can—"

"No." Jack says with a dead voice. Pitch shudders at the sound and tries to touch the Winter, but his hand is smacked away as Jack reaches over and touches Pitch's face ever so softly. The Boogeyman turns his face into Jack's palm and lets the boy cradle his cheek. "No, Pitch. You can't try." His broken smile pains Pitch, and he doesn't know why.

"I'm leaving." Jack's muscles are vibrating with pain and Pitch stares at him, unblinking as the Winter spirit stands and walks away form the Boogeyman.

"No! Jack!" Pitch is reaching for the boy, trying to grasp the fabric at his calves and pull him back, but his reach falls short as Jack dances out of reach. "Stay! Please!" Pitch looks livid, but his voice breaks and cracks and he can't stop it from sounding like he's ibegging/i Jack not to leave. "Why won't you just stay with me?!" Pitch gets to his feet, but he's too late once again.

"I can't." Jack says in a small voice as the wind picks up and the shadows are unable to reach him in the sky. "You don't love me."

And then he's gone, melting away into the distance, and Pitch is left alone.

* * *

**One more chapter! Woohoo~**

**Hope everyone enjoys!**


	3. Devils

**THE END!**

**Hope everyone's enjoyed this story 3**

* * *

**Gravity of Devils [three]  
**_Devils_

* * *

Jack leaves Pitch for many months after that night, living alone in the cold Arctic where the snow falls endlessly and the glaciers reflects what little sunlight there is like mirrors planted deep within the crust of the Earth. He doesn't mind not seeing children on a daily basis—in fact, right now he prefers it that way—but when he's back in his element, he feels a little more at home. At least it's not the desert, Jack thinks spiritedly.

It was on this day that Jack let his thoughts wonder to perhaps the darkest parts of his mind—back to the night he left the Boogeyman on a cold, stormy mountain. The gravity of Pitch was intoxicating, and Jack couldn't get enough of the elder spirit even if he tried. Jack didn't know if it was love or lust that had kept Pitch tied to the his side for so long, but he hoped that it was the former—or at least, he knew it was the latter, he just hoped it was also love, yet he feared it wasn't enough.

But Jack could live with it not being love. Jack could live with only satisfying Pitch in a physical manner—but then Jack thinks; no, I couldn't, because I need to be loved by Pitch.

So Jack came to the conclusion that he would have to live without the Boogeyman. He could go on with his eternal life, perhaps visiting his friends more and helping them out with their duties. It had, of course, been close to ten years now since they'd all been together. Maybe Jack would set something up, like a small party at North's workshop or a game night—something _fun._

Nevertheless, darkness crept like a wave of moving sand, snaking around a glacier behind Jack's back and building itself up till it begins to form the figure of a tall, slender being. Jack could smell the villain's scent of _malice_ and _rust_ even without turning around to know he was there. Jack held his breath, trying to keep himself from falling apart.

"Brooding, are we?" The liquid voice of Pitch snuck into Jack's ear.

He shivered, but not from the cold. Jack released his breath and asked, callously; "why are you here, Pitch?" He's been sitting on the edge of a glacier, overlooking the frozen sea for what felt like an eternity of peace. A black and white orca breeched the placid waters, followed by a few more in her pod before they dive down, down, down and were gone form their sight.

"I'm here for you. Only you, Jack." Pitch sounds a bit fatigued, as if _searching_ for Jack is exhausting.

And in fact, it aches—being away from Jack _hurts_. Pitch knows hurt, he knows fear—he's seen the fear of _losing_ someone important _destroy_ people. He only wanted to see the boy, to tell him—well, Pitch breathes—tell him he's missed, or wanted, or whatever it is that Pitch is feeling. He's not so sure anymore, and he just wants the Winter to come back with him, be by his side—he just doesn't know what to say anymore.

"Go home." Jack's voice is harsh and brutal as he gets up and brushes passed the King of Darkness. Pitch grabs Jack's shoulder and spins him around. His eyes are pleading, and Jack melts a little on the inside.

"Tell me Jack, why can't you bare with me?" Pitch begs for an explanation, and Jack only has one.

"Because you don't love me."

* * *

The sky is dark that night, dark enough to make the world blind and terrified—and Pitch feels powerful. Snow whirls around like a burning whip, crying out with a wind that is too forceful; too angry—and Jack feels desperate.

Pitch and Jack scream and yell; fighting and biting and crying out in ecstasy with every howl of wind that pounces too hard against a child's window. Bare skin is slick despite the cold, sighs and moans are swallowed up by defiant grey lips, and breath is shallow and wasted on hiccups and groans of eager pleasure.

"Jack," Pitch moans out atop the eternal teenager, thrusting till he's all the way inside and he's trembling and sweating and _so close_. Jack can feel his eyes burning and he wants to scream at the man, but his moan is caught in his throat as his nails rack down the elder spirit's back and he feels too full, too pressured, and he explodes once, twice, three times.

Pitch sighs in relief, opening his eyes to stare down at the Winter. He feels a sinking feeling in his stomach as an angry tear slips from beneath Jack's cerulean eyes. "I hate you." Jack hisses, then kisses him far too urgently, and Pitch can taste blood from his split lip.

* * *

Jack is visited by Pitch many nights after that, biding his time with idle promises of desperation. "Jack, come back with me." The Boogeyman begs, his eyes pleading, and Jack knows he's trying.

He'd been trying for days to convince the Winter that he'd try—try to learn to love, try to fall in love, try to be_ in love_ with Jack.

But that's not what Jack wants to hear.

Regardless, Jack goes back to the frozen lake and the hole beneath the broken bedframe with the Nightmare King.

* * *

Years pass by quicker than expected.

Atop a clock tower, perhaps somewhere in England, sat a shadow and a snowflake. It was somewhere between sunset or sunrise, where the sun cast a beautiful array of colors; purples, reds, oranges and yellows lain across the city like a fire, burning down the town from the farthest point in the horizon—yet no one tried to stamp it out.

Jack Frost's staff was leaning casually up against the clock tower. He sat atop the edge of the building on his tiptoes, balancing with a finely toned core that was surely developed over time to be very cat-like. Meanwhile the Shadow King stood beside him in total silence, his legs crossed at the ankles as he watched his beloved Nightmares creeping very snake-like through alleyways and around corners, invading windows and open chimney's and crawling out from beneath beds and out from closest.

"So what do you want now, Pitch?" Jack asked airily. He didn't so much mind the man constantly finding him wherever he seemed to vanish to, but he was continually trying to force their relationship's issues on the back burner, trying to drown it out with his Guardian duties—and Pitch was making that severely difficult.

"I've grown quite fond of you, Jack Frost. Your company is most—" Pitch sought the word out—intriguing, fulfilling, needed, _desired?_ But Pitch managed not to find the right one as he shrugged it off and let the sentence die young. Maybe he'll try something else.

Jack scoffed, paying little attention to the Boogeyman as he watched a Nightmare move steadily into a child's window—and he didn't like that, not one bit.

"I love you, Jack." Pitch blurted out, and his voice was low and soft.

Jack turned his head towards Pitch so quickly he feared he'd snapped his neck. His expression showed vague recognition of the word, of the situation, but it was gone in a flash. Jack then realized what Pitch had said, but tried to ignore the pointed stare he was receiving from the elder spirit.

"What, say something—"

"I've gotta go." Jack spoke quickly, taking his staff in his hands and running for the edge of the clock tower, catching the wind heading west. Jack almost believed him.

They met again, soon after that, somewhere south of Mexico, and Jack feels shame building in his gut, and he cringes for days as he waits for the Boogeyman to mention their previous conversation—yet, he never says a word.

* * *

The two spirits spend more and more time together, growing even fonder of each other all over again. Pitch doesn't push Jack to join his side, and Jack doesn't push Pitch to love him, but things begin to move forward in a positive direction—even if it isn't physical anymore, their relationship brings them closer in a better way the second go 'round.

Pitch didn't feel so alone with Jack, and Jack—he missed his other friends, and Pitch was slightly jealous of that—but Jack didn't mind the eloquent company of the Boogeyman either.

But duty calls, and Jack leaves to take care of his Guardian responsibilities, and Pitch skitters off into the shadows to frighten children.

It must have been Finland Jack reaches this time, due to the massive amounts of snow during their winter months. And Pitch meets him there, creeping out of a shadow in an alleyway, approaching the boy as he leans up against the wall of a small, squatty building; watching children throw snowballs at each other. The sky is overcast, and it was sure to bring a heavy snowstorm, but for now, Jack was content just watching the kids play.

Pitch places a hand on the Guardians shoulder—but the boy gave no start or shudder, simply glanced at the man sideways and smiled. "Hey Pitch." He said merrily. "What brings you here?" His voice is playful this time and he smiles. Jack knows why the man is beside him, but he likes the sound of Pitch's voice anyways.

"Fear, as always." Pitch's answer is full of melancholy, but there is a secret tugging at the corner of his lips. He smirks down at the boy who rolls his eyes back up at him.

The Winter steps up on his tiptoes and places a soft kiss on the King's temple, whispering; "go get 'em, tiger."

Jack feels his heart leap and his breath catch when the man's hand falls away from his shoulder and he glides effortlessly out of the alleyway and into the street, where a small boy stands frightened and stiffens. "Y-you're—"

"Yes," Pitch answers slowly, darkly, running a long, slender grey finger across the boys jaw. A darkness creeps out of his fingertips, leaving a shadow of a mark on the boys' skin that fades quickly. They boy is shaken and runs away, leaving a pile of untouched snowballs in a heap for the other children to claim.

Pitch turns back towards Jack and joins his side once more. Jack doesn't say a word, merely watches the Nightmare King carefully. He exhales.

"Pitch, I need to talk to you." Jack speaks far too fast, his words falling out messily.

"Oh, do you now?" Pitch jests, his brow cocked.

And Jack is on him in seconds, kissing his lips and neck eagerly. When he pulls away, Pitch is biting his lip and clutching at Jack's sweatshirt. His expression shows restraint, but Jack refuses to let the moment pass. "I—" but his voice falls short. "I—uh," he tries again. He realizes how close he wants to be to Pitch, and his heart aches as he sees the way the man's elegant chest heaves, raising and falling with each breath, and he can see the powerful heart beat beneath his breast. "I, just, uh." Jack sighs, "never mind."

Jack's heart breaks within his ribcage. He turns away and catches the wind that drifts up the alleyway, floating away once more. Pitch feels his stomach fall to his toes as the boy runs from him, yet again. "Jack," he whispers the boy's name longingly, but it's too late.

* * *

Things slowly work their way around once more and now, they're dancing this time around when they meet again. Jack is teaching the taller man to dance and he's laughing loudly because he's doesn't know the exact steps, but he's having fun regardless.

Pitch remembers something from a life once lived by a man he doesn't recognize and he stops for a moment to collect his breath as a little girls laugh echoes in his mind. There are ballrooms and gold chandeliers and masks and gaudy dresses, and he remembers the steps to the Polonaise, and teaches them to Jack mindlessly.

"Where did this come from?" Jack asks surprised, and Pitch shrugs. His heart leaps as he gently takes the boys hand in his and leads him. He swings Jack out into a gentle circle then turns away as Jack steps back into him.

"There needs to be more people for this dance to have the full affect, but yes, I remember this dance from before." Jack spins away from him again, rounding his side.

Pitch takes the boy by the waist and holds him close. He then shows Jack how to Waltz, starting off in a small four-step box formation. Jack doesn't hesitate to lean his head against the tall man's chest.

Jack hums with the closeness, and the heat that rises from Pitch. "I miss this." Jack says softly, feeling the heat creep onto his face from Pitch's breast. Pitch merely chuckles, and Jack can feel the vibrations from his bones. The grey skinned man pulls away from the boy and stops swaying to the music in his head as he take's in the peace on Jack's face.

"Jack, I—"

But Jack is pulling him down by the collar of his robe and mashing their lips together. He's eager and Pitch complies willingly, his hands snaking to cradle the back of Jack's head as their lips tie themselves in passionate knots. "_I love you._" Jack sighed into Pitch's mouth, wedged in between teeth and tongues—but his lips hardly moved, as if it were just an exhalation of ecstasy.

Pitch doesn't fight it. He pulls the boy into him, and moves his lips against his partners till their bruised and raw. Jack moans, and he misses the physical aspects of the twisted relationship that he and Pitch once had, and he misses Pitch being _his._

"Stay." Jack begs, and his eyes feel tingly as Pitch stares down at him. "I'm always scared I'll never see you again."

But Pitch pulls the boy in for another kiss, and he stays.

* * *

Jack is fast asleep by this time, and the Boogeyman simply stares up at the moon, hoping, for once, the Man in the Moon will talk back—he doesn't, of course, so Pitch settles for Jack's sleeping form.

He's takes hold of the boy's hand, drawing petty shapes out of the inky sand in his fingertips and placing them in the palm of the pale skinned boys hand. "I don't know…" Pitch's voice falls short as he begins to feel uncertain about himself. He counts the spaces between Jack's breaths carefully, making sure the boy is really asleep before he continues.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Jack." Pitch sighs softly into the wind. He eyes the boy with a sideways glance, then interlaces the boy's lovely hand with his and inspects the closed spaces between their fingers. Though Jack's fingers are shorter than his, he sees that their hands fit together perfectly—and he thinks, how wonderful a shade his skin is against Jack's alabaster flesh.

"It's not that I feel I need you beside me," Pitch tried to defend quickly, but realizes Jack is still asleep—and therefore, there is nothing to defend really, yet he continues; "it's just that I—" he stops himself as Jack shifts in his sleep and his head falls lightly against Pitch's shoulder.

The Boogeyman stays very still and studies the boy once more—the silvery white of his hair, the soft curve of his nose and pale lips, even his strong jaw and chin, and the light freckles that dot the boys cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Beautiful, Pitch thinks, letting the boy rest against him. He hesitantly pushes the boys hair aside from his forehead and leans down to nuzzle the scent of the spirit into his nostrils. He can't help himself then but plant a soft, ever so soft, kiss on Jack's forehead.

"I love you." And the words are foreign on his lips, but he whispers them into the boys' hair anyways—because they feel right and they feel like they could speak volumes over his actions. He'd been afraid for so long that Jack wouldn't come back to him—but tonight feels right, and tonight, Jack is finally _his_ again.

Jack shifts again, this time in askance, and Pitch panics and pretends to close his eyes and sleep beside the Guardian. But Jack doesn't wake, simply snuggles closer to the Nightmare King, clenching his fingers around a grey hand that had been forgotten.

* * *

And finally, twenty years pass, and Jack is starring at the Boogeyman in front of him again as the memories fade into the back of his mind once more. The King smiles down at him in a devious manner and Jack can't help but feel weak in the knees. "A kiss, that's all you came for?" He asks spiritedly. His hand rests on his hips and he sighs hurriedly.

Pitch draws an imaginary line up Jack's jaw and grips the boy's face in his hand. "I've been chasing you for twenty years, Jack. I only have eyes for you and your pretty little lips." His eyes travel to the boy's mouth and Jack can't help but blush.

Jack merely laughed lightly and kisses the elder spirit softly, as if he'd never kissed the man before. Pitch is eager and vibrates with Jack so close to him. The shadows writhed against the snow, moving viciously against the ice as they claw for Jack.

"Why don't you come with me tonight?" Pitch asks, hinting at something entirely different—entirely physical and passionate and possibly persuasive.

Jack shakes his head with a laugh that brings an even darker smile to the lips of the King. "I have my own plans tonight, Pitch, but how about later we meet up, maybe in France?"

Pitch bows his head respectfully, but proceeds to court the boy once more. Jack responds playfully, bantering with the Boogeyman until the King finally gives up and heads back to his Kingdom.

The Winter watched as the darkness followed its master back down to the hole in the Earth where the broken bed-frame guarded shamelessly—proudly, vainly. "Sleep tight, Boogeyman." Jack called from the middle of his frozen lake.

It takes a moment for Pitch register what Jack had said and he pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. His face is blank, almost taken aback or shocked, but slowly his lips curled back into a coy, sneaky smirk. "May devils guide you home, Jack Frost."

Jack shakes his head with a light laugh, but as he watches the King begin to walk away again, there is another sinking feeling in his stomach. Jack grips his staff and growls, knowing the man did things like this on purpose. He runs over to the Boogeyman's side, taking the man's hand in his and trying to avoid eye contact with the King—who is cockily flaunting his success.

"You know, your nightmare sand must be getting weaker." Jack jests, intertying their fingers together, "I didn't even dream about the worst parts of our relationship this time."

But the gravity of devils can be so persuasive, and Pitch chuckles lowly, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Jack."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." Jack kisses the knuckles of the King and laughs loudly because perhaps, everything works out in the end.


End file.
